My marathon gig for the Dolce & Gabbana sample sale started at 5am on Sunday. That’s two travesties right there.
I woke up at 4a.m., just in time to see my roommate arrive, strangely enough, from a 2 Live Crew concert. (Anyone know or remember them?) Apart from some drunken stragglers, the outside world was dead and goddamn friggin’ cold.
I can’t tell you much of what happened on Sunday, because it was such mind-numbing, infinitely tedious work. As 30 temps went to work organizing the quatrillion items of clothing, bags, shoes, and accessories -I’m not kidding, there was one quatrillion of them- we found out that 50 people working with their own organizing method does not an efficient system make. It was like one of those games where you undo everything somebody just did. It would have been funny if it were set to some rag-time jazz and played in fast-forward (like Modern Times!), rather than the sexy house beats pumping through the cluttered studio and the painful creaking of time.
By 9a.m. we had to overhaul everything we had already done, by 2pm my feet were ready to burst open, by 5pm my fingers were trembling from finger-spacing hangers, by 5:15, I went home. I understand the vitalness of having all the hangers face in the same direction, but you see, my fabulous bosses, each time you move racks around, an underling such as I must work on repositioning the direction of those precious hangers.
Which brings me to this message of import. A letter I worked on, in my head, during the two days -setting up and opening day- in which I have been a peon of a particular high fashion Italian label.
Dear Mr. Dolce and Mr. Gabbana,
Buongiorno!
I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am also pleased -and slightly flustered- to learn that that Dolce & Gabbana is not the same as D&G. Oh no. The latter is akin to an uglier, awkward little sister. She cannot possibly be as luxurious as your eponymous name brand, because she is about ten times cheaper than you. And through transposition, of course, you are ten times more fabulous. At least!
Now, I never considered myself a philistine of fashion. As Miranda Priestly put it, the turquoise in your haute couture line will eventually trickle down to my fast-fashion wardrobe. I respect that. I do not, however, understand a few concepts, which are probably too lofty for my thrift-store tastes.
First of all, that fully sequined light pink (salmon?) colored blouse. It costs $22,000, and as far as I can tell, its effect is either that of a sparkling peacock or -worse?- looking like you’re wearing nothing at all, but just “shining.” Good work, by the way, on the strategic placement of the peacock eyes. Still, twenty grand? I’ll have to think about that.
Next, that skirt that looks like hair. Human hair. $10,000. I just don’t think it’s a good deal.
I had my qualms about the black&white cow hide jacket, especially its price tag: $8000. But you know what, I saw a couple of people pick up the jacket today. Personally, I would go for the matching skirt. Less going on on top, you know?
Finally -I know there’s some crazy shit there (admit it, I bet it’s fun to fool the rich)- but I learned about astrakhan today, and I just have to put my foot down. NO. There is no good reason to purposely induce sheep abortions so you can use the fetus’ hide for a rich person’s jacket. That’s just horrible. I love meat and I am willing to allow fur (I’m sorry, the coats are just so fabulous, just don’t kill off a species), but this astrakhan business is just insanity. Besides, the fabric’s not that cool anyway.
So as not to leave on a bad note, I am happy to report that today, as on every first sample day sale, that Russian lady came in and bought at least $100,000 worth of clothes (after your generous discounts). You know the woman, the one that looks unfortunately feline. She had her own personal attendant guarding her two-and-a-half racks chock-full of the most expensive, flashiest, and most ridiculous items in the store. And what stamina! She was there at 9a.m., and bless her heart, shopped until the doors closed and us temps went home at 8pm.
That’s all. It’s been a trip so far.
Ciao!
Janine
